Of Regret and Redemption
by Breeze-Riddle
Summary: Harry has always wondered - and now, at wand point, he finally asks, "Do you regret it?" With a flash of light and charcoal eyes, he has his answer. Oneshot. TRHP. Preslash.


A/N: This is just a small plot bunny that was running through my mind. No Beta.

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With the elder wand pointing at its master and a wand of holly aimed at the carrier of it's brother, Harry Potter could not help but pause, staring at the pitiful image of Lord Voldemort, form unnaturally long and pale, crimson eyes swimming with madness. How could this horrible, twisted creature be _Tom Riddle _- the beautiful, brilliant boy who could have had _everything. _

Who could have easily reshaped the magical world to that of balance and wonder and genius revolution. The hate that had festered - that which continued to grow and devour - tormented and ate at the beautiful soul that reluctantly yet fiercly carried the darkness, mind falling as Tom Riddle submitted to his own fear.

It made Harry sick, absolutely revolted to know that the Slytherin Heir was brutally murdered by his own hand - for this creature in front of him was no longer that beautiful boy, but a shell of hatred and vengeance and fury.

"Do you regret it?" The words left Harry's mouth without a thought, and he watched as the once Tom Riddle sneered, disgust blending and dancing with the madness in blood filled eyes.

"I have told you, boy, I regret no deaths I have commited," he snarled, the tip of the elder wand beginning to glow a deathly, vivid green.

"No," The word seemed to cause the Dark Lord to hesitate, and a sad smile pulled at Harry's lips, grief filling his emerald eyes for the boy who had once been, "No, I do not speak of other's deaths, not really. Do you regret that you destroyed yourself?"

The lipless mouth opened to snarl at the boy, eyes flashing with self-righteous fury and loathing, but Harry pressed on before the creature could reply, "You speak of weakness, Voldemort, as if you have none. But the only weakness you have is yourself. You allowed your fear, your hate to _destroy _everything that you were - Tom Riddle would have been magnificent, he would have had the world on its knees; not in fear and hatred, but with _admiration and respect_. But you threw everything away, Voldemort - for what? Power? Revenge? You allowed your hate and fear to _blind _you, and that is what makes you weak. The only enemy you have is yourself and I pity you. You poor, despicable, broken creature - try to understand what you have done! If there is any sanity left in that once brilliant mind, listen!

_Do you regret it?"_

Harry stared at the creature fiercly, willing him to listen, to remember and understand. The boy did not know why he was doing this, why he was trying to make the Dark Lord regret, to redeem himself of all his horrible deeds. But then, he realized - he was not trying to save the Dark Lord, he was trying to save Tom Riddle. The boy who he had sympathized with, understood and considered _his friend. _The lovely boy who, if not for the circumstances, if not for the time gap, he would have _adored._

With this heavy realization echoing in his mind, he watched as Lord Voldemort became utterly frozen, crimson eyes widening ever so slightly, confusion battling madness and anger. Harry held his breath, waiting, disbelieving as the Dark Lord seemed to become at war with himself, and Harry could not help but be astonished - _hopeful -_when he understood that creature and man were fighting for control.

Madness versus sanity. Hate versus acceptance.

Charcoal and blood mixed together, a sob ripping from Harry's mouth as he took a step forward, enraptured as the pale and gaunt figure of Lord Voldemort began to tremble. The lipless mouth fell open in a silent scream as the tremors wracking his body heightened, and Harry's wand lowered but stayed in his hand - just in case, just in case - as he hurried forward until the two were only feet away from the other.

Eyes met and time seemed to freeze, the gazes staying locked as the Dark Lord began to slowly rise in the air, breaths sparking and sizzling with magic, charcoal slowly eating away at furious crimson. And then, as the blood resided to only a sliver of a ring, eyes snapped shut and the Dark Lord threw his head back, an agonized scream ripping from his throat.

A brilliant flash of pure, white light blinded the Great Hall, Harry's hand shooting to his eyes to shield his vision, a gasp being torn from his mouth from the intensity of the magic in the air, knee's buckling and hitting stone floor. And then the light dimmed and Harry brought his hand away from face, jaw falling in wonder and awe, verdant eyes locked on the unconscious form of _Tom Riddle_.

The beautiful, sixteen-year-old body hovered mid-air in a pause of time, glowing with magic and redemption, acceptance and regret. And then the newly made body slowly lowered to the ground, gently resting in front of Harry's knelt form, the light diminishing until there was but a natural reflection from pale, _human _skin.

Harry remained frozen for only a moment and then he was moving, lifting the head full of silky, raven hair to rest in his lap, stroking the elegant and warm cheeks with trembling hands. He was gasping with sobs of disbelief and joy, tears streaming from watery eyes as he bent over the body of Tom Riddle, intently studying the beautiful, angelic face that was a product of a restored and whole soul.

The once Dark Lord began to stir, eyes fluttering open to reveal full, charcoal colored eyes, his gaze focusing on the boy hovering above him, his cheeks continually being caressed with consuming gentleness. He smiled then, filled with gratitude and regret, warmth and grief. A pale hand rose weakly to tangle in dark hair, the boy's eyes closing as he bowed over the youthfully reformed body even more.

"Yes," Tom Riddle finally spoke, his eyes fluttering close with exhaustion, somehow trusting this boy to keep him safe, "Yes, I regret it,

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I hope y'all enjoyed the oneshot - reviews on y'all's thoughts is very much appreciated.


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